Strangers
by Leia
Summary: [Complete] After five years, N.17 finally finds his sister ... only to discover she is married, with a daughter! Feeling betrayed and alone, N.17 confronts N.18 ...
1. Strangers

Disclaimer: DB/Z/GT aren't mine. So there. 

A/N: I always wondered what #17 would think if he finally found #18, and discovered that she'd "settled down" with the best friend of their worst enemy .... 

This is a re-post. I decided I didn't like the ending to it, so .... sorry to those who read/reviewed already. I'm making it longer, I think, so we'll see how it goes, shall we?   
  


Strangers

Three figures played on a white, sandy beach.  Two of them sat, crouched on the sand, while the third one -- decidedly smaller than the others -- stood, being held up by two pairs of guiding hands.  All three were smiling, and completely unaware they were being watched.

A lone figure "stood" in the sky, ice-blue eyes watching the scene with apparently detached interest.  The ocean breeze blew a few strands of black hair into them, and were brushed away impatiently by a gloved hand.  Artificial Human #17 stared down at the beach, hardly daring to believe what he saw.

His sister, #18, was sitting with a small, shaggy-haired man, both of them smiling.  Between them was a tiny baby with blonde pigtails, who couldn't be too much more than a year old. #17's eyes narrowed as he studied the child; it was a little girl, whose eyes and basic facial structure resembled the man on the beach.  Hmm . . . obviously her father, then.  But what was #18 doing there? #17 nearly fell out of the sky when he looked from his sister's cornsilk-coloured hair to the child's.

#18???  A _mother_???

#17 had been looking for his sister ever since he'd awakened five years before.  He'd searched the forest he'd woken up in, since he knew she liked quiet, and surrounding cities, since she loved to shop, but no luck.  Finally, after a few years of living on his own as a lumberjack, #17 had decided to try what he'd previously considered the least likely places on this planet -- the homes of Son Goku's friends.  

#18 hadn't been at any of those places, and #17 had almost given up when his memory reminded him of the small, pink house on the island near the area where he and Piccolo had battled years before.  In a last-ditch desperation effort, #17 had tried it.

And there she was . . . with a child, no less! #17 passed a hand over his eyes, completely and utterly shocked.  How could his sister -- his _twin_, for heaven's sake! -- have changed so much in five years, to go from completely hating humans to marrying one and . . . and . . .

He frowned.  Which fighter was it?  He thought he recognized him, but the tousled black hair was unfamiliar. #17 ran a database check on him, and his eyes widened when the results came up: Kuririn.  _Kuririn_?! The pint-sized man #18 had kissed on the highway?! #17 almost died.  Sure, he'd teased #18 before, telling her that she had a crush on the tiny fighter, and he'd the reward he'd gotten for his gibes had been a backhand that sent him flying.  But he hadn't been _serious_!!!

Kuririn said something, and #17's cybernetic hearing picked it up: "Hey #18, if you'll watch Marron for a while, I can start lunch."

And #18 actually smiled at him!  _Him_, a puny little human! #17's teeth ground together.  He'd just found his sister, and certainly hadn't planned on giving her up to the likes of that weakling!

The human went back inside the house, and #17 waited a minute before flying down to the beach. #18 jumped as he landed, not speaking, but then a wide smile crossed her face -- the most emotion he'd seen her express toward him in a long time.  "#17!" she exclaimed, still smiling, "I don't believe it!"

The little girl, who was keeping her balance by holding onto her mother's pants, looked up at him solemnly.  "Mama?" she stuck one finger in her mouth, regarding #17 curiously. #18 looked down at her, and that affectionate smile flitted across her face again. #17 felt a twinge of jealousy -- he'd only seen her give _him_ that look before.  That was their private smile . . . when had #18 begun giving it to others?  He'd spent five years looking for his twin, and now that he'd found her, she was happily married, with a child, and had probably never given her brother a second thought.

"Can you wait a minute?" #18 asked him, and apology flickered in her eyes.  "I'll just give Marron to Kuririn and I'll be right back."

  


"Sure," #17 crossed his arms.  He felt guilty for being angry, but he couldn't help it.

As good as her word, #18 returned a minute or so later.  "I told Kuririn I was going to fly around for a while," she told him, "He said I don't have to hurry back."

"You have to ask him if you can go places?" #17 raised an eyebrow.  "That doesn't sound like the #18 I knew."

She frowned at him and took to the air.  He hesitated, then followed.  "I don't _have_ to ask him anything.  It's just polite," the confusion wore off as they began to fly. "I've missed you," she admitted quietly, sounding almost embarrassed.  Though #17 and #18 had been all each other had since their modifications by Gero, neither had shown any affection toward each other until #17's absorption by Cell.  The statement from #18 was something neither of them were used to.

In light of what #17 had seen earlier, however, the _jinzouningen_ could only give a perfunctory grunt in response.  "Have you?" he heard the harshness that invaded his tone, but didn't try to stop it.  "Have you really?"

#18 jumped, and she spun her head around to look at him, her blonde hair swirling around her face with the movement.  #17 felt a sharp pang as he regarded her face -- she was so beautiful . . . he'd always been proud of his sister, proud that she cared for him and _only_ him.  It had made him feel almost special -- privileged -- to have #18 as his twin sibling, to share the bond that (he'd thought) only twins could share.  That pride was still there, though buried beneath years of loneliness, but the new layer of betrayal began to paint over it, obscuring it further.

"#17, what do you mean, 'have I really'?  I wouldn't lie to you!"

Her eyes were filled with pain, and #17 was suddenly reminded of her face during the battle with Cell -- she'd looked as though her whole world had been spun upside-down.  Noticing this didn't change #17's emotions, though, and the skin at the corners of his eyes tightened with annoyance.  "Maybe you don't realize you're lying, but you are.  Honestly, #18, think back over the last five years.  How often have you thought about me?"

"All the time!" #18 retorted, and the surprise in her voice was evident now.  "I can't believe you're bringing this up.  After all we've been through together --"

"After all we've been through together," #17 added, sarcasm hardening the lines of his face and causing his words to come out sounding meaner than intended.  "You didn't even check to see if I was still alive.  You went off and happily married the best friend of the man we are programmed to kill.  You had a _child_ with him, and didn't bother to even wonder where I was.  I'll bet any money you have that you never thought to look for me even once."

"No, I didn't," #18's ice-blue eyes were narrowed, and #17 almost backed away a little.  The last time he had seen that expression on his sister's face -- one of rage and loathing -- she had been looking at Dr. Gero.  "You know why?  Because I thought you were dead.  I _saw_ Cell absorb you.  I watched you get sucked into his tail.  I heard you screaming.  Later, I experienced what you'd gone through, and I knew you couldn't have survived.  I was spit out when Cell battled Gohan, but you weren't.  How was I supposed to know you were alive?"

She flew close to him, so that their faces were almost touching.  "After Cell was destroyed, I kept to myself for two years.  It wasn't until three years ago that Kuririn found me, and it took him almost another year for me to trust him enough to get married to him.  Do you know _why_?"

#18 didn't wait for #17 to reply -- still scowling, she pressed on with her angered narrative.  "Because I was still mourning over you.  No matter what you think, I do remember how close we were.  How you were like my other half, in a world that hated us because it didn't understand us.  It took me that year to learn to let go, and to accept that you weren't coming back.  I _cried_ for you, #17.  Have you ever seen me cry?  Of course you haven't!  But I cried for you -- I cried every single night for months."

  


Her eyes softened, and the fire in them died, to be replaced by a sad loneliness.  "I still cry sometimes.  I'm not ashamed to admit it anymore.  I've missed you so much; I almost considered leaving Kuririn and Marron once, because I couldn't take the pain," all of a sudden, the anger was back.  "So don't tell _me_ I haven't missed you!"

#17 looked away, unable to hold her gaze, just as he had done in the past.  Though #18 had always called him "Boss" during their escapades before Cell's arrival, #17 had always known that his older sister was unquestionably in charge.  When she looked at him like that, he couldn't meet her stare for more than a few seconds.

But it wasn't submission that made #17 drop his gaze this time.  Now, burning in the _jinzouningen_'s heart was a cold flame, tended by five years of solitude and now fanned to roaring strength by his sister's words.  A hatred -- not of #18, but of what this world had done to her.  He didn't _want_ #18 to admit how much she cared for him.  That wasn't what he wanted!  This wasn't his sister -- his sister would never say that she missed him; would never admit to nearly sacrificing her happiness because she couldn't "take the pain" anymore.

Would never admit to crying.

#17 didn't want things to change.  He hated change!  Change was what had gotten him into all this trouble in the first place, and now, had taken away his only chance for happiness.

Change brought Dr. Gero, and his maniacal scientific "experiments" that had spawned the hell that #17 was now trapped in.  

Change brought the mission to destroy Son Goku, which was fun until it had gotten complicated.  

Change brought the sudden, dramatic upsurge in Piccolo's strength, which, had the battle not been interrupted, would have resulted in the first fight #17 had ever lost.  

Change brought Cell, who had turned #17's world topsy-turvy, destroying him and his sister until, by some magical force, coincidental or not, they had been restored to life.

And, perhaps most importantly, change had turned his sister from the reliable, trust-inspiring twin into the enigma that now stood before him.  The woman who felt human emotions, and wasn't afraid to admit that to him.  The woman who married a human, and who had given birth to a little girl.  The woman who cried.

"What happened to you?" #17 shouted, and the suddenness of the outburst startled #18, causing her to flinch.  "You used to be so . . . so . . . _binary_ sometimes!  _I_ was supposed to be the one who tested our artificial half, while you told me not to be stupid.  You were always the one who hated humans with a passion, and never admitted to having any emotions.  Or _wanting_ them, either.  You understood that we _jinzouningen_ are better than those pathetic humans.  When did you change?"

His voice hardened.  "When did you decide to become one of them?"

An expression between hurt and bewilderment coloured #18's face, and her gaze ran over him almost as though she expected him to be an illusion, or an impostor.  "What has gotten into you?  Why are you so accusatory all of a sudden?  What did you want me to say -- that I didn't miss you at all?  No, because you would have gotten angry at me for that, too.  What do you want from me?"

"I want things to be the way they used to be," #17 replied, and though he tried to keep his tone cold and aloof, some of the betrayal seeped in, as well.  "You and me against the world, where all we had to count on was each other, and nobody could come between us.  We could hijack cars, and steal clothes, and blow up the silly humans, and neither of us gave a Namekusejin's behind what anyone thought about us.  I want that back."

"You know I can't do that," #18's voice was soft, something else #17 had never heard from her.  "I'm married to Kuririn, and like it or not, most of his friends have accepted me.  I can't just go back to murdering and stealing.  It would be . . . well, betraying their trust in me."

  


"What about _my_ trust in you?" #17 cut in, and the pain he felt didn't let him listen beyond #18's words.  He didn't see the hurt in her eyes at his accusation, or the sense of inner peace that seemed to radiate from her when she spoke of her husband.  All he saw was a human woman with ice-blue eyes hovering in front of him.  "I trusted that you would be the same; that you would still be the one person I could rely on.  But you . . . you've turned _human_ on me!"

#18 reached out and clasped his shoulders, frowning. #17 tried to jerk away, but his sister's grasp was unbreakable.  _Well_, he thought grudgingly, _At least she hasn't lost her strength_.  "I haven't 'turned human', and I'm still your sister.  The only thing that's different is that you're not the only one I care for anymore.  I have a husband and a daughter, and I love them both.  I'm sorry if that's painful to hear, but it's the truth."

#17's eyes narrowed and he finally managed to shift out from under #18's hands.  He clenched his fists, dropping into the ready stance, and smirked at the expression of surprise and even fear that sprang up on his sister's face.  "Would you fight for them?" he demanded, powering up a tiny energy blast and running it lazily over the backs of his fingers.  "Would you kill me to protect them?"

******

A/N: Ooooh.... jealousy can go a bit too far, methinks!! What will happen next? Stay tuned and find out! 


	2. Strangers

Disclaimer: I don't own DB/Z/GT. I wish I did, because I would do anything to be able to draw the characters as well as Toriyama-sensei! 

A/N: Heh, I finally got off my rear end and typed up some more, finally! This was actually kind of difficult to write, because I wasn't sure how I wanted this story to go. Yeah, originally I had a happy ending planned, but ... no. About 30 seconds after posting it, I nearly had conniptions trying to take the story down before it even appeared. ^^ Kind of amusing, to me, but . . . heh. Nothing I can do about it now! 

I realize #17's reactions are quite bitter and accusatory, but . . . that is how I picture #17 to be. One only needs to watch the episode in DBGT when #17 murdered Kuririn to see how little regard he holds his sister's husband. #17 wanted #18 to join with him, and when Kuririn interfered . . . BAM!! I believe this type of feeling would be present when #17 discovered #18 had been able to start a life without him. 

So yes, Sporanox, I believe #17 would really be that jealous. 

Again, this is a short chapter. Once it's entirely finished, I think I'll probably re-edit and put all the chapters into one, but for now, it'll be a more-than-one-chaptered story. 

****** 

Last time on Strangers: 

#17's eyes narrowed and he finally managed to shift out from under #18's hands. He clenched his fists, dropping into the ready stance, and smirked at the expression of surprise and even fear that sprang up on his sister's face. "Would you fight for them?" he demanded, powering up a tiny energy blast and running it lazily over the backs of his fingers. "Would you kill me to protect them?"   
  


Strangers 

"Don't do it," #18 warned, raising her hands in an ostensibly placating gesture, but #17 knew his sister well enough to be able to tell when she was readying herself for battle.  "What are you trying to prove?"

"I'm just finding where your loyalties lie," #17 spat, and the fiendish smile that had crossed his face was replaced by a black scowl.  "I'm different than you are -- I can't just forget who we are and who _they_ are.  And I think, somewhere inside you, neither can you.  Tell me, have you never wondered what your 'husband' thinks of you?  There are some things about you that he can't pretend are normal . . . don't you ever wonder if he wishes he had married someone truly human?  Somebody without metal parts inside her?  I bet he does."

The next second, #18's fist lashed out and caught #17 in the face, knocking him backward.  He flew a few dozen feet, then righted himself, holding his hand over his bleeding nose. #18 followed his trajectory, and her eyes blazed with a fury #17 hadn't seen in years.  "Don't ever say that again," her voice was a sharp as the blade of a sword, and she reached out and grasped #17's bandana.  "If you're jealous that I've managed to move on, that's one thing.  Trying to make me doubt Kuririn is crossing the line."

"Sor-_ry_," #17 shot back, putting all the scorn and sarcasm he possessed into the word, and he ripped his bandana out of #18's grip.  "But you haven't answered my question.  What if I decided to kill them?"

#18 said nothing for a few moments, and the sorrow in her eyes was greater than #17 had ever seen.  "I would fight you," she sighed softly, and #17 winced -- #18 never sighed . . . or never used to.  "I still care about you, but . . . I can't let you hurt them."

#17's lip curled in a derisive snarl, and he backed away. #18 was gone; he knew that now.  The sister he had known had disappeared; quite where she was he had no idea, but he did know it was a place from which the old #18 would not escape.  "Fine.  I'm sorry I ever came here.  Enjoy your life," he spun around and flew in the opposite direction.

He didn't get very far before the air in front of him shimmered, and #17 had to grind to a halt to avoid smacking into his twin.  "Get out of the way," he growled, but #18 refused to move.  Each time #17 attempted to fly around her, she was too fast for him.  At last, #17 crossed his arms.  "Do you want something?" he snapped.

"If Kuririn tried to hurt you, I'd stop him," #18 declared quietly.  "Not that he would, but if he ever attacked you, I would fight him.  I want you to know that."

#17 merely let out a "Hmph!" and did not reply, but #18 pressed on.  "A few years ago, Kuririn and I were at a party with the rest of his friends.  Vegeta said something about how he was glad you hadn't been spat out by Cell, because it would have been a waste of his time to have to find you and destroy you -- something along those lines," #17 growled at that, but #18 shushed him with a sharp hand gesture.  "I attacked him.  It was a stupid thing to do, because the Saiyajins are our superiors in strength now . . . but I did it anyway.  I couldn't just stand there and listen to him insult you."

  


"What happened?" #17 inquired, for the first time speaking without any malice, his tone tinged with curiosity in spite of himself.

#18 let out a small, embarrassed laugh and looked away shamefacedly.  "I ended up in bed for three days, barely able to move.  It was one of the more unintelligent things I've done, that's for sure.  But . . . I couldn't let him say things like that.  I don't care if I'm married, I don't care if destroying the world isn't important to me anymore -- you're my brother.  Don't you understand?  Nothing can change that."

"That's where you're wrong," #17 replied, his voice dead and flat.  "If you stay with that . . . that _man_, if you believe in all the things that we used to stand against, then things can't be the same.  If you've let yourself get sucked into their world, their petty beliefs, then I don't understand who you are anymore.  My sister would never love anyone -- not even me.  Loving a human is proof that you aren't who you used to be."

"I never said I was," #18 pointed out, and though her tone was gentle, her words dug deeper into #17's heart than any cruel statement could.  "People change, you know.  I know that's hard to accept, but it's true."

"The #18 I used to know didn't change."

"Memories _don't_ change.  That's why they're dangerous.  You remember people how they used to be, and since you can't see them to prove yourself differently, you go on believing things are exactly the way they were.  You can't live in the past.  It's not healthy."

#17 turned away in disgust, folding his arms across his chest.  Though somewhere in the back of his mind he knew #18 was right -- people did change -- he didn't want to believe her.  People might change, but _jinzouningen_ didn't.  That was something #17 had always taken for granted.  _I guess there are a lot of things I need to learn_, he thought cynically, _Like there's no such thing as happy endings._

He knew, of course, that he could always kill Kuririn the little girl, whatever her name was, because in her weakened state #18 didn't believe he would actually go through with it.  He could kill them before #18 knew what happened, and even though she would be furious, eventually she would get over it.  It would be worth the temporary hostility on #18's part, because #17 knew that in time, #18 would realize she didn't need silly humans to be happy.  Humans were a weakness, something that caused one to be indebted to, and once they were gone, #18 would see how ridiculous her feelings had caused her to become.

Yes.  That would be the easiest way to do it.  Kill them now -- just blow up the house . . . they'd never know what happened.  Or, maybe they would die thinking #18 had turned on them.  The corners of #17's mouth lifted in a vicious smirk, for he decided he liked that idea.  Yes . . . ironic and fitting, that the humans would die at the hands of a _jinzouningen_.  It didn't matter which one; everyone would think #18 had reverted to her primary programming, and she would be excluded from her little group -- perhaps even persecuted.  She would have no choice but to return with her brother, for he would be the only one who would accept her.  Oh, how contrite she would be . . .

Unfortunately, #18 was just as good at second-guessing #17 as she had been in the past.  "If you're thinking of killing them, don't," she warned, moving into defensive posture, flying between #17 and the ridiculous, pink house.  "We'd just wish them back with the Dragonballs, anyway, and you'd have the Z-senshi after you.  I don't think you want that.  Even you aren't strong enough to take them on."

"I've done it once, I can do it again," #17 snapped huffily, feeling insulted.  The humans and Saiyajins couldn't have changed as much as the Namekusejin, could they?

"No, you couldn't.  They're so much stronger than you, it's not even funny," #18 shook her head slowly, like she couldn't believe he was being so belligerent.  "You know I don't like admitting when someone is more powerful than I am, but I will if I have to.  We're stronger than the humans, but not the Saiyajin or the Namekusejin."

  


#17 snorted, and though he wanted to refuse to believe her, something in #18's expression convinced him that she was telling the truth. #18 might have changed, but she was still not a liar.  "What happened?" he demanded.  "How could they get so powerful?"

"Some radical training program.  Kuririn wasn't very clear on it.  Son Goku's boy is actually the strongest," #18 tilted her head, smirking a little. #17 got the impression that she was enjoying this a little too much, watching the disbelief he could feel creeping across his face.  "You wouldn't stand a chance."

"Shut up," he snarled, repressing his triumphant smile as pain and disbelief flickered across #18's face.  He could see she was confused at his anger -- and this made #17 feel even more determined to hurt her.  Oh, she would understand before he was through . . . she would know what it was like to feel like her heart torn had been from her and held, still beating, in front of her face . . .  "You don't know anything about me anymore.  You might pretend you do, but you know _nothing_."

#18 stepped backwards in the air, and the confusion on her face transformed into genuine agony -- almost as though #17 had physically slapped her in the face.  The colour drained from beneath her skin, leaving her even more pale than usual.  She sucked in her breath and released it slowly, obviously trying to gain her composure.  Her eyes narrowed, crystal blue slits in her beautiful face.  "Who are you?" she hissed, voice fraught with sorrow.  "You're not my brother!"

"I'm still your brother," #17's hands tightened on his upper arms until he felt his circulation slow.  "You're the one who isn't my sister anymore.  You're a stranger to me now, that's all.  Like I said, I'm sorry I ever tried to find you.  Memories of who you used to be were much better than seeing what you've become."

"#17 . . ."

"Don't talk to me.  I don't want to hear it.  I don't know who you are, and I have no interest in finding out.  I'll remember my sister the way I want to, not as the weak human she is now," #17 smirked, and he inclined his head in a formal bow.  "Goodbye, #18.  I hope you have fun with your little human, for however long it lasts.  Just don't be surprised if it doesn't end up to be the fairy tale romance you thought it would be."

"#17!"

"I'm going now.  It would probably be better for the both of us if you forget I ever came here," he sneered, resisting the childish urge to thumb his nose at her.  "I know _I'm_ going to."

Once again, #17 attempted to leave, but this time #18 grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking him back.  #17 winced -- Piccolo had done that once, and though the _jinzouningen_ wouldn't admit it, hair-pulling hurt like crazy.  "What?" he bellowed.

#18 spun him around to face her, and her eyes were colder than #17 had ever seen them.  The lines of her face taut, #18 extended her index finger, nearly jabbing him in the face.  "I want you to know that I'm not going to sit around and cry after you leave," she informed him acerbically.  "You've insulted me, you insulted my husband, and you insulted my decisions and my life.  That's something I don't tolerate from anyone -- not even you, _'dear'_ brother.  So if you're waiting for me to break down and cry and fly after you or some such garbage . . . don't.  I'm not going to come after you."

The words stung, for somewhere in the back of his mind -- behind the hate, the anger, the accusation -- #17 still felt a flicker of the care he used to harbour for his sister.  It was hard to find, yes, but it still existed.  In the depths of his heart, #17 had hoped #18 would leave her family and follow him . . . but he knew that voice, that expression.  #18 was dead set on staying.

"Fine," he spat out the words like they were a foul-tasting substance in his mouth.  "I won't be waiting anyway.  See you around, _human_ . . . well, no.  Not really.  Have a nice life, if that's what you call being the playtoy of a weakling not even worthy enough to tie my shoes."

  


Without giving #18 a chance to reply -- if she even would have -- #17 deliberately pried her fingers from his hair and flew away.  _Don't look back_, he told himself, feeling the first flutterings of indecision beginning to beat in his heart, poking through the betrayal.  _Don't look back.  You'll only regret it!_

He didn't look back.

******

This is not the end. Keep that in mind. There's still more coming.


	3. Strangers

Disclaimer: I do not own DB/Z/GT. *sigh* And I'm far too tired from writing this chapter to think up anything funny. Sorry! 

A/N: Way too long between updates. I know. And I'm very sorry about that. There's no excuse except that I lost interest in this, and didn't want to finish. But since I've been in a bad mood for a few days -- and was listening to my friend's Linkin Park CD -- the end of this long-awaited (*snort*) story came to me. 

Boy oh boy, this was hard to write . . . #17 is an unstable character, and probably the most difficult person I've ever attempted to write. There are so many facets of him that are untouched in the anime, that it's hard to tell where the limits are. 

Well, you tell me. Ugh. This took a darn long time to write, and despite the fact that I think the ending is confusing, I'm proud of it. #17 is confusing. None of his motives really make sense, and that's what I played upon here. 

Okay. Read on! After people read his chapter I'm going to put it all into one story like I said last time, but I'll wait for a bit. 

Last time on Strangers:

_Without giving #18 a chance to reply -- if she even would have -- #17 deliberately pried her fingers from his hair and flew away. Don't look back, he told himself, feeling the first flutterings of indecision beginning to beat in his heart, poking through the betrayal. Don't look back. You'll only regret it!   
  
He didn't look back._

****** 

**Strangers   
  
**

Artificial Human #18 could only stare as she watched the energy trail of her twin disappear against the blue sky.  "What did I say to him?" she pressed a hand to her mouth in shock, remembering the harshness of her words, and the look of hatred on #17's face when she had said them.  Her shoulders shook slightly, despite her caustic assertion that she wouldn't cry for him once he was gone.

"#18?"

The soft, inquisitive and concerned voice floated to her on the ocean breeze, and #18 squeezed her eyes shut.  _Oh no . . . not Kuririn,_ she thought despairingly, _Not now!_

"#18, are you all right?"

She could feel him reach up to touch her shoulder, though she knew he wanted to wrap his arms around her waist and comfort her.  He wouldn't dare, though —  not when she was in this mood.  #18 shook him off with a careless shrug, not replying.

"'Nana-_oji_," Marron, clinging to Kuririn's pant leg, supplied helpfully.

Kuririn gasped inarticulately, and #18 squeezed out an affectionate smile.  "I've told you before, Marron, it's _Juu_nanagou.  His name is Number Seven_teen_, not Seven."

"Knew dat."

"#17 was here?  Is that why you wanted to 'fly around for a while'?" Kuririn sounded incredulous, but not angry.  #18 knew he wouldn't be, but she was a little disappointed . . . she wanted a reason to hit something.

#18 nodded, letting out a small sigh as her mind recalled the conversation, mercilessly pounding her with every cruel word exchanged between them.  "We . . . talked," she replied evasively.  "And he left."

She felt Kuririn slip his hand in hers, squeezing her fingers gently.  "You wanna' talk about it?" he asked quietly, sitting on the sand and drawing her down beside him. #18 shook her head, not trusting herself to speak just yet.

"Give me a few minutes," she told him, still casting her gaze over the ocean.  Though she refused to admit it to herself, #18 knew she was hoping her brother would return, though she didn't know what she would say if he did.  _Who am I kidding, anyway? _#18 thought bitterly, _You__ know he isn't coming back._

Funny thing was, while a little part of her brain was telling her to be happy, that her brother was leaving her to live her own life in peace, the greater half was still upset.  While #17 seemed to be able to shake off their twin bond (jokingly dubbed "twin link" during their rampaging days) so easily, #18 was not.  She was not willing to abandon her new life to "pick up where she left off" with #17, but now that he had returned, she wasn't so sure she could be perfectly happy at home anymore.  Why was life so complicated?  

Why did she have to want the best of both worlds?

******

  


_I shouldn't have gone off the handle_, #17 berated himself as he flew back to his dwelling in the forest.  Stopping in mid-flight and making a beeline for the ground, #17 sat on a rock and rested his forehead in one hand.  _Is it really so bad that #18 wants a life of her own?  I can't expect her to wait around for five years if she thought I was dead._

He shook his head, digging his fingers into his scalp as though the pain from that would take his mind off his muddled thoughts, which were currently tumbling about in his head like clothes inside a washing machine.  Emotions he didn't want to feel and memories he desperately wished he wouldn't recall were roiling away inside him, and #17 groaned.  He didn't want to think of the past right now — that would cloud his judgement, and most likely make him do something he would regret!

Not that he hadn't already — coming to see #18 in the first place was stupid and juvenile.

Or was it leaving that upset him so?

_"It's taking a long enough time to find Son Goku," #18 groused, leaning back in the seat of the van with her fingers laced behind her head.  "And you insist on stopping for the night?  Honestly, #17, you know we could get there much faster if we didn't rest.  We don't need to."_

_"We don't 'need' to do a lot of things," #17 pointed out, grinning at his irate twin.  "But it's fun.  And you never know —  you might actually find out you like sleeping."_

_She snorted, turning her head away from him abruptly.  "Don't be stupid.  It's a waste of time."_

_#17 just guffawed again and he stretched and yawned pointedly, chuckling at the glares #18 sent him.  "C'mon, #18, don't you want to savour this for a while?"_

_"Savour what?  Getting attacked by lecherous men on motorcycles?  Driving in a disgusting pink van?  Or perhaps you mean wearing this horrible outfit?"_

_"All of it!  Who knows what'll happen after we kill Son Goku — don't you want to enjoy driving around, just us, with nobody telling us what to do?" #17 waved his arms expressively, narrowly avoiding smacking #18 in the face, and earning a scowl in return.  "It's you and me, sis' . . . how does that song go?  You know, the one that played on the radio about six times?"_

_#18 chuckled dryly in spite of herself, and she wrinkled her nose.  "'You and Me Against the World'," she rolled her eyes.  "That sickeningly touching song by some annoying human? #17, I think you've been exposed too much to human softness."_

_"Sickening or not, it works," #17 shrugged.  "After Son Goku's gone, there's nothing left for us to do except hang around and have fun.  It's just the two of us."_

_A deep, sonorous voice echoed from the backseat.  "Why do you not include me in this, #17?" #16 asked, though he didn't sound particularly concerned.  Indeed, with that monotone of his, he never sounded enthused about anything.  "I am, after all, included in the mission."_

_"Sorry, buddy," #17 called back, rolling his eyes at #18 and grinning, and he was rewarded by a quiet laugh.  "Didn't mean to exclude you or anything.  But hey, #18's my sister.  That's kind of different."_

_"I . . . don't understand."_

_"Never mind.__  Don't worry about it."_

_  
_

_#18 shook her head a little, and by the dim glow of the dashboard lights, #17 saw the corners of her mouth lift.  "You're crazy, #17," she declared decisively, but in a rare act of familiarity, she punched him lightly on the shoulder, then left her hand there for a few seconds. #17 slapped the back of her head in response, and the two siblings settled into a comfortable silence.  _

_"After we defeat Son Goku," #18 spoke after a time, her voice only slightly muffled by sleep.  "I don't want anything to change."_

_"Now who's being sickening and soft?" #17 scoffed, but inwardly he fervently agreed with her . . ._

#17 snorted, straightening up and massaging his temples, wondering why he was suddenly doubting his decision.  It had seemed so clear when he had been talking to #18 . . . but now . . .

He didn't know anything anymore.  Frowning, #17 got to his feet, glancing around at the forest he inhabited, at the deep green of the leaves, and the golden sunlight filtering through the canopy.  The isolation from humans had always been welcome, but recently it had seemed oppressive . . . almost . . . lonely?

His eyes widened.  _What the hell?_ he demanded sharply.  Loneliness?  _That_ useless, human emotion?  Ye gods . . . the cybernetic implants in his brain had to be short-circuiting.  That was the only explanation.  It _had_ to be the only explanation!

Nevertheless, #17 found himself levitating into the air and heading back, once more, to the island with the stupid-looking house.  He didn't know why.  He had spoken with his sister, and knew quite well of how their paths had separated.  The tapestry of #17 and #18 had unravelled forever, and he didn't want to chase after loose threads like some sort of sentimental idiot.

He wouldn't speak to her again.  #17 knew that.  He had done so already.  #18 didn't even need to know he was there  — he just wanted to see her again.  To see if her scathing epithet was true — to see if she really _wasn't_ going to cry for him.

Against his will, #17's mouth curved up in a smirk.  He knew #18 would cry.   Years ago she would not have, but that said nothing for the weak, soft human she had become now.  Kuririn, that stupid man . . . he had softened her.  Weakened her.  Turned her from the perfect weapon she once was into a worthless, biological creature, just like every other human on the planet.

It was interesting, the clarity that came with his sudden anger.  It was though someone had taken an invisible pair of scissors and suddenly cut through all the ties that connected #17 to his sister, one by one.  Loneliness? _Snip_!  Gone.  Remorse?  _Snip_!  Gone as well.  Regret, compassion, connection, kinship . . . all were erased by the unknown source.

#17 smiled again, speeding up in his flight.  He wanted to see #18 crying . . . wanted to see the power he still held over her.  He knew he did — he always had, whether either of them admitted it or not.  #18 might have said she would never cry, but somehow, #17 _knew_ she was lying.

In this world of humans, aliens, and warriors stronger than he, that feeling of power, no matter how slight, was all #17 had left.

******

Kuririn looked at his wife with sympathy as she cried, but he didn't know what to say.  Marron had been sent inside with Rôshi, since the little girl hated to see her Mommy cry, and Kuririn was left alone with his distraught wife.

Kuririn had never asked #18 about her brother — never really understood the bond between them.  #18 had never mentioned it either, though he knew she thought about him often.

  


The small human sighed, and #18 glanced at him.  She was still beautiful even when she cried . . . something about Gero's modifications had stopped her eyes from reddening and her face from puffing up.  She looked like some ancient sculpture of female perfection, unmovable, untouchable . . .

"What?" #18 asked reluctantly, her voice thick with emotion.  

"He's not part of your life anymore," Kuririn said quietly.  He knew his words weren't exactly comforting, but #18 needed to hear them — whether or not she wanted to.  "You shouldn't cry over him.  You have a family and friends . . . you don't need to tear yourself up.  You've chosen your life, and #17 chose his."

#18 nodded, though it was out of obedience more than anything.  "I know," her voice shook, and she lowered her head, hiding her face.

Kuririn reached out and touched her chin, raising her face.  He wiped a stray tear with his thumb, brushing her silken hair away from her eyes.  "You'll be all right.  I still love you."

Before #18 could speak, Kuririn leaned in and kissed her, tasting the tears on her trembling lips.  Normally he was tentative with his physical demonstrations of love, but this time he felt the need to be more forceful.  His mouth covered hers with what Kuririn could only call possession, and his arms wrapped around her tightly.  He needed to show her that #17 didn't own her anymore . . .

It was the right thing to do.  #18 pulled him closer, kissing him frantically with enough force to take away both his breath and his balance.  He toppled over backwards onto the sand, taking #18 down with him, but #18 didn't appear to notice.  She became insistent, her mouth joining with his almost ferociously, searching for comfort and belonging in his embrace.  She wanted affirmation that he would never leave her — that in him, she could find release from her brother and the pain he caused.  That he could fill the void left inside her.  Kuririn responded willingly, chasing away #18's negative emotions with his love, his touch, his kisses . . .

******

If _jinzouningen_ could have heart attacks, #17 would have suffered the very first one.  He arrived at the Turtle Island expecting — needing — to see his sister in a fit of self-inflicted sorrow . . . weeping, sobbing, unconsolable.  Her husband wouldn't know how to deal with her.

Instead of that, he found . . .

#17's first thought was to look away, but he couldn't.  Initially he'd thought #18 was killing Kuririn somehow, since Kuririn's power reading was high, like in battle mode, and #18 was atop him in the sand.  But it didn't take long to realize that the hand Kuririn snaked in #18's hair was pulling her closer, not pushing her off, and #18's ferocity was based in passion, not killer-rage.

They were still clothed, thank goodness — else #17 might had self-destructed then and there.  As he watched, however, one of Kuririn's hands slipped beneath the hem of #18's t-shirt, his fingers tracing the contours of her muscled back . . .  #18's kiss and caress became even more insistent, if that was even possible . . .

#17 turned away abruptly, feeling violently, physically sick.  He clamped a hand down over his eyes, hard, not wanting to see what his mind insisted on replaying over and over.  No.  NO!  #18 was supposed to be . . . supposed to be broken — she shouldn't be doing — doing — _that_ . . . !

His hand trembled and shook, then curled spasmodically into a clenched fist.  Energy sparked around his closed fingers in a white, hissing display, barely controlled enough to form a ball.  The energy turned black, red lightning forking off it, as #17 fought to control himself.

He would kill them . . . kill them all . . . the force of his energy rose, his power surging upwards, and #17's entire body shook violently.

  


He pointed, aimed.  #18 and Kuririn were still oblivious to him, locked in passionate desire, and #17 hated them for it.  Hated them both.  Despised them for taking away everything he'd used to cement his uncertain life together . . .

Now.  He had to do it now — one of them would notice in a minute — 

#17 closed his eyes, feeling salty water sting behind his clenched eyelids.  His breath escaped him in a rattling wheeze, and without thinking, he fired.  Gasping with relief and pent-up rage, #17 waited for the screams.

Nothing happened.

Shocked, the _jinzouningen_ opened his eyes.  The pair on the beach had calmed down by now, #18 having rolled off Kuririn and released his mouth for the first time since #17's arrival, and they lay close together, tangled in each other's arms.

Why weren't they dead?  Why was the island still intact?

Slowly, #17's gazed trailed to his arm . . . which was pointed upward, toward the sky.  He'd missed . . . at the last second, without realizing it, his body refused to kill #18.

He had failed again.  He couldn't even kill her — couldn't erase her from his life.  Couldn't destroy what was confusing him so badly, even though she had what he couldn't — a life without worrying about who she was, a life with someone who understood her completely.

#17 would have gritted his teeth, but he didn't have the energy anymore.  He felt drained, as though Cell had begun to absorb him, but stopped halfway.

Everything . . . everything was gone.  Everything he knew, or thought he did, had been entirely flipped around.  #18 didn't need him — never had.  She didn't want him around anymore . . . he had left her half an hour before, and in that time she quickly forgot about him and flung herself on Kuririn.  She'd probably lied to him — most likely she hadn't thought about him at all since the Cell Games.

His hands trembled, and #17 fought with the knot in his bandana as he struggled to untie it.  He finally settled for ripping it from his neck, and he looked with loathing at the torn fabric, and the couple resting peacefully on the sand, happy in the aftermath of their frenzy.

They still hadn't noticed him.  #17 doubted if they were aware of anything but themselves and each other.  How utterly sickening . . .

He dropped the bandana, watching the orange cloth float in the light breeze.  Let #18 or one of her family members find it — let her remember that, oh yes, she had a brother!  Let her relive the pain he caused, even for a short time . . .

And heaven forbid if she actually remembered _him_ . . .

#17 snarled.  To hell with #18.  To hell with memories.  To hell with _everything_ . . . he didn't need anyone, anything.  Nothing was worth it.  Everything betrayed him in the end — the day's events were more than solid proof of that.

He spun in the air and flew in the opposite direction, purposely gunning his energy in the hopes that #18 and Kuririn would see him, and know that he had witnessed their "touching" episode.

But since he kept his gaze firmly focussed on what was ahead of him, #17 didn't know if they did or not.

If he had looked, he would have seen that they didn't.

  


The gust of his departure blew the hovering bandana above the ocean, where it sank lazily into the frothing waves and disappeared.  Fish nosed at it curiously, but none paid it any attention.  The orange fabric slowly settled into the sand, where time gradually covered it with sand and debris.  Years later a scuba diver would see it poking through the silt, but would toss it away like a piece of worthless trash.

On the beach, #18 sighed in relief and rested her head against Kuririn's chest.  His heart was pounding, his breathing still uneven, but he smiled at her.  "Feel better?" he asked.

"Yes," #18 felt slightly amused that the pace of her own breathing had elevated, as well, and was just now returning to normal.  "Much better . . ." her mouth twisted in displeasure.  "I don't know why I let #17 control me like that."

"Well, he is your brother," Kuririn reminded her.

"Was," #18 interrupted darkly, and Kuririn pressed his lips to her forehead in a gesture of comfort.  His hand traced lazy circles on her back, his arms wrapped securely around her.  "I'm sorry it took me so long to figure it out, Kuririn.  You and Marron are my family — not him.  The man who used to be my brother . . . I don't know where he went, but he's not the one who came to see me today."

Kuririn held her close, and #18 felt peace invade her senses like a physical force.  For the first time in years, she felt free — despite how painful it had been, she finally had her closure with #17.  He was gone, and he wouldn't come back.  #18 made her choice, and had chosen the life she now lived, not a crazy dream her brother manufactured for her.

She felt at peace, and she nestled her head in the curve of Kuririn's neck and shoulder, loving the sensation of belonging.  #17 was gone, true, but . . . she didn't need him anymore.  He no longer had power over her as he used to.

******

Miles away, the clouds swirled and eddied like a whirlpool in the air.  Lightning flashed, drawn to this spot by a tremendous outpouring of artificial energy.  In the middle of the maelstrom was a single figure, head flung back and arms thrown out, long, black hair flying in the frenzied wind.

Unheard by everyone, Artificial Human #17 screamed.

Fate is a funny thing.  That day, as one woman found her purpose and contentment in life, a lone man lost everything he once thought true.  He was alone.  Estranged.  No one understood — not even himself.

The air rang with a single cry, heart-wrenching in its intensity, frightening in the strength of the anger behind it:

_"WHY?"_

******


End file.
